


the things that no one else sees

by unconscious



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unconscious/pseuds/unconscious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is part-angel, or something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the things that no one else sees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [molokomolotov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/molokomolotov/gifts).



It’s been a while since they’ve done this, all five of them together in a hotel room with a few twelve-packs of beer and a minifridge to empty. Zayn’s about three and a half drinks deep, loose and well on his way to drunk. They’re sat in a circle on the plush white carpet, playing some American card game Harry’s picked up recently with a bass-heavy R&B album low in the background.

The third tour is a whirlwind. There’s fewer press junkets, which Zayn appreciates, but the stages are bigger, the fans louder, the stop turnarounds tighter. And the terror is gone-- he no longer finds himself knocking on Harry’s door in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep from nerves, because the nerves are gone. They don’t pile into into one bunk and rock the bus sideways, they don’t whisper secrets under hotel duvets anymore. They’re a family now-- less codependent, less terrified, more individually functional. It’s a good change, Zayn figures, but he still hasn’t come clean about his-- his thing, and as he stares into his fourth beer, he wonders if this might be his best chance. He doesn’t know when the next one will come.

“Oi, you there?” Niall says, and snaps his fingers right under his nose. “Off in wonderland again?”

Zayn blinks and looks up. Niall’s cheeks are flushed pink, and he’s leaning forward, grinning. “Your turn,” he explains, motioning at the ring of facedown cards.

Zayn nods and slips one of the cards out and peers at the face. “Ace,” he announces, flipping it around to show it to the other four, and then slides it under the tab of the beer can in the center of the ring.

“Hot seat!” Liam crows from his right. “I’ll start. What’s been your least favorite show on tour?”

“Um,” Zayn says.

“Answer or you have to finish your drink,” Liam says cheerfully.

“Toronto,” Zayn says. “Because Harry wore that horrible sheer shirt because he wants to be Matt Healy.”

“Heyyyy,” Harry says demurely.

Liam hmphs but accepts the answer, and turns to Louis. “Hmm,” Louis says, peering at Zayn and sloshing his beer around in the can. “What’s the weirdest thing you and Pez have done in bed?”

“She pegged me once,” Zayn says easily, and grins at four pairs of eyebrows shoot up. “Pretty good, yeah?” Liam goes a bit glassy-eyed. Zayn gazes expectantly at Niall, directly across from him, who is very red.

“Uh,” Niall says, and shakes his head a bit. “Uh. What were you thinking about just now?”

“Just--” here’s his chance, it won’t get more perfect than this, they’re all just drunk enough-- “Thinking like, it’s nice to do this stuff again? Hang out again, like. Lots has changed, and it’s not so scary anymore, you know? For me, at least. But it’s still cool that we can all chill like this. And that, uh-- there’s something I haven’t told you about?”

“What’s that?” Harry asks immediately, leaning forward. “What’s your secret, Zaynie?”

“Wasted your question,” Zayn says. “I was gonna tell you anyway.”

Harry shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.

“I guess, it’s like--” ok, he steels himself, here’s the moment where he sounds crazy and they all laugh-- “I’m not, uh, fully human?”

“Well, we knew that,” Niall says and rolls his eyes. “Look at you.”

“No, seriously,” Zayn says, but he smiles weakly at Niall. “Like, um. Gimme your hand, Niall.”

Niall sets his beer down and extends his hand dutifully. Zayn takes Niall’s hand in his, taps into that bright space in the center of his chest that he spends so much time shrouding, and sends a sharp shock through Niall’s nervous system.

Niall squeals and jerks his hand away. “The fuck was that, mate?” he demands, and shakes his hand like he’s been burnt. “I’ve seen those electric shock hand-shake things, doesn’t seem your style!” The other three laugh, Louis particularly loud, Harry particularly confusedly.

“That’s the mean version, sorry, sorry,” Zayn says. “Gimme your hand again.”

“Ugh,” Niall says, but extends his hand again.

Zayn takes it, and this time when he finds that brightness he channels it gently into Niall, softly, like a slow massage, or a warm, heavy blanket.

“Oh,” Niall says, and starts tipping backwards. Zayn scrambles forward on his knees to keep their hands connected as Niall tips back and narrowly avoids knocking over the beer in the center of the card circle. “That’s nice,” Niall says, dreamily, scooting sideways so he can stretch out fully on the carpet, his arm only aloft because Zayn’s holding it up. “Wow. I feel like I’m high, but also in a hot tub. No, like, a hot springs. A hot springs in winter. High in a hot spring in winter after eating like, the best meal ever. Wow. Shit.”

Zayn releases his hand, gently, placing it on Niall’s chest. Niall hums happily.

“Um,” Louis says. “What did you do?”

“Is he okay?” Liam asks.

“Do me,” Harry says.

Zayn sits back down. Louis, Liam, and Harry gape expectantly at him, in different ways. Niall sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

“My dad calls it the touch,” Zayn says. “I dunno what it is. It’s from my dad’s side of the family, like, we all have it? Me and all my sisters. My sisters have it more than me but I still have it. All the Maliks do, but the older generations have it stronger. It’s weakening as it goes. But my mum says it’s why we look, uh, they way we do.”

“What, ridiculously beautiful?” Harry fills in.

Zayn shrugs. “Well-proportioned.”

“So, what is ‘it’?” Louis asks, furrowing his brow. “This ‘touch’?”

“Damn good,” Niall says. “I’m ready for round two.”

Zayn grins at Niall, and then takes a sip of his beer. It’s gone better than he expected so far, no panicking or name-calling, but the nerves are still heavy in his gut. “My dad explained us to it when we were kids,” he says with a shrug. “Like, um, . The story goes that my great-great--um, a lot of greats, not sure exactly how many--grandmother couldn't have kids, but she was super, super devout, like, the best Muslim ever, so Allah sent a vision to bless her with children, and all of her kids and their descendants have had the touch, in varying degrees."

Louis takes a long drink from his beer and finishes it. "So, you're telling us your gran fucked an angel and so you have powers."

"Um,” Zayn says.

"So God's real, then?" Liam asks.

"I don't know,” Zayn shrugs. “That’s just the story. I don’t know what it is.”

“What else can you do?” Harry asks.

“The shocking thing,” Zayn says, ticking them off on his fingers, “The warm thing, and we can heal like, really small injuries. Like, really small. We’re all pretty empathetic, and good at like, comforting people? And we’re pretty lucky. And when we get emotional or something sometimes we like… glow, sort of. That’s it.”

“And you’re pretty,” Harry adds.

“You _glow_?” Liam says incredulously. “I’ve never seen you glow.”

“Well, like, I can’t do it in on TV or anything, you know? Learned to stop it.”

“You glow all the time to me, Zayn,” Niall says dreamily.

“That’s the touch talking,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes.

“S’not,” Niall protests lazily. He’s lying on the floor again.

“Okay, do me,” Harry says, and extends his hand.

So Zayn does, and then he does Liam, and then finally Louis (who extends his hand with some trepidation). And they all believe him, and no one calls him any names, and they resume the game of Kings and play until Niall cracks the tab and has to chug the beer, and Zayn wonders why he waited so long.

*

The next night, the crowd in the Gillette stadium seems even louder. Harry is chattering away to the crowd, much to their howling delight; Zayn is lingering near the band, sipping a bottle of water and letting the noise wash over him when Niall sidles up next to him.

“Shock me,” Niall says, leaning very close to Zayn’s ear.

“What?”

“Keep thinking about last night.” Niall wraps his arm around Zayn’s waist and tugs him close. “It doesn’t seem real, you know? Especially out here.”

So Zayn does. He sends the charge surging across his entire body, focusing it on Niall’s grip on his waist.

Niall jumps at the shock, but doesn’t pull away. He starts laughing, a wild cackle right in Zayn’s ear. Zayn grins. “You asked for it.”

“I know!” Niall says, and slides his hand to the small of Zayn’s back and leaves it there. “It’s crazy. It’s great. You’re great.”

Niall moves away, still laughing, and Zayn doesn’t know what to say, so he looks out towards the crowd, huge and expansive and full of lights.

*

The second night in Boston, they have nothing planned, and Harry wants to see the sights. He ropes in Liam and Louis, but Zayn turns them down in favor of a night in. He assumes Niall’s gone as well, until his phone lights up with a text:

_wanna watch a film??????_

Zayn bites his lips. The lads had been good-- great, even, considering how weird Zayn has revealed himself to be-- but Niall, especially. He’s just been enamored, asking for clarifications and details and just. Interested. Harry had just wanted to be shocked repeatedly.

 _sure_ , Zayn types back. _come over x_

_ur lazy_

A few minutes later Niall’s knocking a rhythm on the door. Zayn opens the door and Niall shoves past him, wearing a thin white tee and ratty sweatpants. Zayn’s still wearing his jeans and feels decidedly overdressed. Niall drops a six-pack on the nightstand and collapses on Zayn’s bed with a heavy sigh, all before Zayn shuts the door behind him.

“All right, then?” Zayn says. He stretches out on the bed next to Niall and leans up against the headboard. Niall hands him a beer.

“Yep, better now,” Niall says. He grabs the remote and turns on The Avengers.

After two beers and a quarter of the movie, they’ve sunk down onto the bed so just their heads are propped up enough to slurp from the cans. Niall sets his aside and knocks his shoulder against Zayn’s.

“I think it’s cool, you know.”

“What, Captain America?”

“No, you idiot-- I mean, yes, obviously, but I meant like, your possibly-an-angel thing. It’s cool.”

Zayn feels himself flush. He’d carefully avoided the word in his explanation. “Just hated keeping secrets from you.”

“I’m glad you told us,” Niall says. “I figure it wasn’t easy.”

Zayn nudges Niall’s foot. “Thanks, Nialler.”

Niall inhales, and then blows all the air out through his mouth. “And I don’t want to keep any secrets either. Mine seem so, you know, mundane.”

“Got secrets, Niall?” Zayn turns his head, wiggling his eyebrows at Niall, and they’re very close together, and Niall is turning pink.

“Yeah,” Niall says, and then pushes forward, just enough to touch his lips to Zayn’s.

Zayn inhales sharply, and doesn’t move, and then and Niall pulls away. His face is bright red. “I-- sorry, I shouldn’t have-- I should’ve said something--”

“Niall--”

Niall sits up and plants his feet on the floor. “I’m just, I’ll go now. Sorry. That was stupid, never happened, yeah?”

Zayn reaches out and grasps Niall’s wrist at the same time Niall stands up, and they hang like that in flux for a moment, and Zayn can feel the tension in Niall’s shoulder and the tight ball of humiliation in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say, but he remembers that he can communicate in other ways now, that Niall knows, so he sends a rush of warmth from his hand into Niall’s chest, a small burst of comfort like sip of hot tea after coming in from the snow.

Niall’s shoulders visibly relax.

“Hey,” Zayn says, and tugs on his arm.

Niall sits back down on the bed, but he doesn’t face Zayn.

“Stop being shy, it’s weird.”

“Excuse me, I’m having a crisis,” Niall says.

Zayn sits up, and so Niall pulls his feet back up onto the bed so they’re seated shoulder-to-shoulder, and Niall stares into his lap. Zayn bumps his shoulder against Niall’s, then touches his jaw with one hand, guiding Niall’s face up, and then kisses him.

“Oh,” Niall breathes, and then he’s kissing back, his hands tentatively finding Zayn’s waist. They kiss slowly, carefully, and Zayn learns that when he presses his teeth into Niall’s lower lip, Niall gasps and grips Zayn’s shirt like a lifeline.

“This okay?” Zayn murmurs as he pushes Niall down by the shoulders so he’s lying flat.

“Yeah,” Niall says as Zayn stretches down atop him, the the lengths of their bodies pressed together, their legs tangled, the hard length of Niall’s cock hot against Zayn’s hip. “Yeah, very okay. Super okay.”

Zayn’s lips travel across the slight stubble of Niall’s jawline, up to the soft skin under his ear and down the length of his neck. Niall shudders beneath him, his hands running up and down the length of Zayn’s back, across his shoulderblades and down the length of his spine, and then across the small of his back and under his shirt. The warmth of Niall’s callused palms on his bare skin makes Zayn hum and press himself closer.

“Jesus, Zayn,” Niall says, gruffly, and rolls his hips up.

“Fuck,” Zayn says, and tugs the collar of Niall’s shirt down so he can suck a mark on his shoulder where no one will see.

“Wanted this forever,” Niall mutters, his mouth warm against Zayn’s temple. “You. Since we met, really.”

That makes something swell bright in his chest. “I wanted you too,” Zayn admits, aloud, for the first time, and he says it into Niall’s chest. “Dunno when. You’re magnetic.”

“Oh,” Niall says, and he holds Zayn close with one hand up his shirt and the other on the small of his back.

The closeness feels good, safe, and for the first time, he doesn’t feel like he needs to hold himself back. He releases the vice grip he keeps on his touch, and lets it emanate from his skin to Niall-- warmth, and joy, and a slow-burning arousal from deep in his gut.

“Oh, oh,” Niall says again, louder this time, sharper, and he arches up against Zayn, gripping him like a lifeline, and noses at Zayn’s temple until Zayn raises his head and kisses him. Niall kisses harder now, dirtier, with more tongue and teeth.

Niall flips them, pinning Zayn beneath him and then raising up onto all fours above him. “What was that?” He’s flushed pink still, and sweat beads on his temples. “What’s that your touch?”

“Um, yeah,” Zayn says-- he thought it’d be good but he’s never let it loose in this context, and he realizes he doesn’t know what it feels like-- “Was it okay? I didn’t--”

“Fucking amazing,” Niall says, cutting him off. “Amazing. You’re amazing. Fuck. Do it again.”

So he does. He sits up so Niall’s straddling his lap and kisses him again, tugs Niall’s shirt off and feels Niall laugh into the kiss, then dips his fingertips into the hem of Niall’s sweatpants and keeps kissing him and kissing him until all he can see and feel and hear is Niall, Niall, Niall. He lets every spike of arousal travel from his gut to Niall’s skin, feels Niall shudder Zayn’s own shudders, the same goosebumps on their skin, the same shortness of breath.

Zayn slips his hands into Niall’s sweatpants and squeezes his ass, and Niall gasps sharply and bucks forward, his cock grinding against Zayn’s. His mouth finds Zayn’s again in a kiss that’s more a desperate sharing of breath. “Please,” he says as he pops the button on Zayn’s jeans, “Let me--”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and lifts his hips as much as he can, just enough for Niall to shove his jeans down enough and free his cock.

Niall breaks the kiss to look down, bumps his head against Zayn’s temple and huffs out a breath. “Fuck,” Niall says, and then wraps his hand around Zayn’s cock.

God-- it’s not amazing, it’s dry and at and awkward angle, but it’s Niall, Niall’s guitar-callused hands, Niall’s labored breaths and corded forearms, Niall who wanted to get shocked on stage, in front of everyone, with no fears or hesitations. It’s like lightning down his spine, and he keeps one hand on Niall’s hand and tangles the other in the hair at the base of Niall’s skull like if he let’s go he might turn to dust.

“Christ,” Niall says, sliding his hand up slowly and then running his thumb of the head of Zayn’s cock, “Jesus fucking Christ, Zayn, your touch--thing-- I can feel it, sort of, in a weird way like-- fuck--” He pulls his hand way for just long enough to wet his palm gratuitously with his tongue, and when his grip returns tighter and wetter they exhales simultaneously.

“Not gonna last,” Zayn mutters into the crook of Niall’s neck. “M’close.”

“Bet I’ll feel it,” Niall says, his hand speeding up, sliding up and down Zayn’s cock relentlessly, tight at the base and loose and wet across the head, meeting Zayn’s hips as he bucks up helplessly. “When you come. I wanna feel it, Zaynie, come on.”

And that’s what does it, really, Niall’s voice in his ear-- it takes just a few more stroke, Niall’s hand moving faster and faster as Zayn’s orgasm builds in his gut, the muscles in his thighs and abs tensing as he tries to pull Niall closer, closer, his breath quick and labored and then with a gasp and a long exhale of Niall’s name, he comes. It’s like a firework in his gut, an explosion that travels up into his chest and out his limbs, the sparks of it dancing across Niall’s skin and makng them shake together. It’s a long exhale of Niall’s name and a shuddering, and Zayn realizes that Niall is shuddering against him too, and when he loosens his grip on Niall and looks down he sees stripes of come on his own torso and Nialls hand, and a wet spot growing bigger on the front of Niall’s sweats.

Zayn untangles his hand from Niall’s hair and reaches down, running his thumb across the wet spot and the head of Niall’s cock.

Niall shivers, sensitive, and rolls off Zayn and flat onto his back on the bed. “I felt it,” he says. “When you came, I felt it. Insane. Absolutely mad.”

“Good, though?” Zayn says, and lies back next to him.

Niall props himself up onto his elbows just to look down his nose at Zayn. “Terrible. So bad I came in my pants. Worst handy of all time.”

“Hey, I’ve never, like, used my touch like this, you know? Be nice.”

“No,” Niall says, and drops a kiss against Zayn’s lips. With some shuffling, they kick the covers on the hotel bed down and wriggle beneath them, and curl there, face-to-face with their feet tangled.

In the darkness, Zayn murmurs, “Next time I give you a handy, okay?” and Niall says, “Deal.” Then Zayn takes his hand, and there’s nothing in their touch but skin, and Zayn’s never felt more human than this.


End file.
